


So Baby Come Light Me Up, and Maybe I'll Let You On It

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Series: Your Heart is the Biggest Gift You Can Give Anyone [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anniversary, Blanket Permission, Come Eating, Come Marking, Comedy, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, High Heels, Lingerie, Literature, Long-Haired Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking, Takerversary 2018, When You're Such a Couple You Absorb Each Other's Faves, Yuuri is a Widow Main in Overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 13:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: It's a special day and Yuuri has some special ideas for his Vitya to celebrate.





	So Baby Come Light Me Up, and Maybe I'll Let You On It

**Author's Note:**

> This all started because I talked about the bit in Gossip Girl where you find out Chuck and Blair do sex role play of Anna Karenina on Discord and now I have no control of my life. Here have some dirty fucking for your persual.
> 
> TAKER IS A YEAR OLD. Why. How. Anyways. For real though if you haven't read the main fic, this will still make sense. I made it stand alone for that purpose. You just need to know they're in love is really it.
> 
> Anyways, this is about 2 months after the finale of Taker which made this difficult and annoying to write because _s p o i l e r s_.
> 
> Yes, Phichit quotes Sailor J's amazing contouring video. We all know he'd love her. Handwave that she made that video in Spring instead of fall 2017. Time's a construct anyways. 
> 
> TBH Phichit and Yuri are likely show-stealers here and I'm not even sorry. No they don't join in, God no. But Yuuri owes them a lot. Like...maybe he should have reconsidered their aid.
> 
> Lingerie: [the bodysuit](https://www.laperla.com/us/uscfilpd0020548-vr0275.html) and [the matching robe.](https://www.laperla.com/us/uscfilpd0019230-dl-vr0275.html)
> 
> Shoes: [these satin beauties](http://us.christianlouboutin.com/us_en/shop/women/douce-du-desert-2.html).
> 
> Notes at the end for the books/excerpts/literary references. Also I know in the main fic, it's definitely more dom!Yuuri/sub!Victor, but sometimes Yuuri needs a little reciprocity is all. ;)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/25782091398/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 

After taking a shower one night, Yuuri thumbs through the contents of Victor’s Kindle. Victor’s tastes are all over the place—non-fiction, memoirs, poetry (this is the largest category), romance novels (usually the ones a Detroit friend called “bodice-rippers”), great Russian and French novelists, some English prose.

He knows he’ll find it here, the secret to repaying Victor’s birthday gift but—he can’t take the time to read this many books, not with preparations for the upcoming season looming. Choreography starts soon, alongside meetings with designers and choosing music. It's a lot.

A title catches his eye in the list: _Anna Karenina_. It's a romance, if he’s not mistaken. A countess and her lover venting clandestine passion. It’s a period novel so it probably means stuff like corsets and not showing his whorish ankles lest he scandalize the men. 

It’d be incredibly fun to wear a corset and scandalize _one_ man in particular, though, and Victor _does_ like his ankles.

He opens the web browser and begins Googling. He finds a website that seems reputable and offers high-quality goods at a reasonable price. He picks something pretty in stretch satin, lace, and mesh he thinks his Victor will find enticing along with a matching pair of stilettos, notes they’ll be shipped from London, and buys them.

The goods will take a while. Yuuri lies upside down with his head hanging off their mattress. He walks Makkachin. He bathes Makkachin when he gets into a compost heap in a woman’s garden and stinks to high heaven after. He makes them dinner, a simple but tasty marinated salmon and rice dish his nutritionist in Detroit taught him. 

It’s been four hours. The stuff is coming from the UK. Of course it’s not in St. Petersburg yet, obviously it’s not—but Yuuri’s annoyed and flops onto the couch doing his best Hannibal Lecter Corpse Display impression. 

Phichit hated that show. Yuuri liked it more than he’ll publicly admit.

“You seem oddly bereft,” says Victor. Yuuri hears him sit on the edge of the kotatsu Victor bought with his mother’s ringing endorsement. “What’s the matter?”

Yuuri intends to say “I’m impatient over a sexy gift for you” but as he’s face down in neutral-colored bamboo fabric cushions, it comes out like “mmakdhhdjhdu.”

There is a pause. “What language was that?” Victor asks, completely serious.

Yuuri lifts his face, depositing his glasses onto the end table. He gives Victor a serious expression. “It’s the language of ‘I tried to do something nice and I’ve been blocked by the lack of instant delivery from Europe’.”

“Ah yes,” Victor reassures. He runs a hand over Yuuri’s cheek. “Well. It can wait—the anticipation will heighten my undoubted gratitude and joy at its arrival.”

Yuuri doesn’t want to wait, though. He sighs with a low grumble. “Well, I guess we can do some of it without the extras. It’ll lose authenticity, but…I can’t let perfect be the enemy of good.”

Victor’s eyebrow rises. “I’ll remember you said that.”

“Shut up,” Yuuri counters, aware of the incredible irony of his comment. “Just…shut up.”

He grabs Victor by the wrist and pulls him into their bedroom. It’s…theirs. It’s been less than six months, and it’s _theirs_. It’s such a delight, a little thrill that makes him shiver with joy and comfort. The rental house in Hasetsu was theirs, though in a different way, but this is their home-home for now, and he won’t stop smiling when Victor can’t see at things like their books mingling or how Victor immediately helped him arrange his belongings so seamlessly. It’s like he’s always lived here.

Victor is dragged and Yuuri kicks the door closed behind them so Makkachin doesn’t interfere. Generally he’s good about staying on the floor or not being in the room at all, but there’s been a few memorable occasions where he decided he wanted to be in the middle of things and…it was awkward and funny, but definitely a mood killer.

Yuuri pushes Victor onto his back, stretched out like a feast on the scarlet silk duvet. He stands in front at the foot of the bed and slowly unzips the Russian team jacket. “Oh Count Vronsky,” he begins. “My husband will catch us if you do not take me right this moment.”

Victor, who looked entirely on board a moment ago, now has a scarily flat affect. “Excuse me?” he asks.

“You know Karenin cannot find us together,” Yuuri continues, dropping the jacket to the floor. He’s in a UNIQLO t-shirt that’s been washed enough to be somewhat see-through and a tight pair of Mizuno exercise leggings from his dance practice. “Please we cannot—“

“Have you read this book?” Victor cuts him off.

Yuuri freezes in the process of pulling his shirt off. Victor hasn’t begun undressing at all. “No? It’s…a movie with that British woman who was Padme’s decoy. It’s a romance!”

Victor sighs and pinches his nose. “Your character commits suicide by train. No one ends up happy.”

Yuuri opens his mouth and then closes it. “Oh. Um…” He tries and thinks of another book in Victor’s Kindle Library. “You can be Rochester and—“

“So you want me to lock you in an attic after driving you mad and then marry someone else?” Victor responds.

“Okay,” Yuuri says with irritation. Being cock blocked is bad enough, but when the person doing it to you is the desired sex partner it’s a whole different level. “I’m your Daisy and you’re my…” He’s read that one to the end and yikes no one is going to end up shot dead in their pool. “I’m Hester Prynne and…”

Yuuri wonders if taking American Literature past 1840 for his requirement was a poor choice in hindsight…especially when taken into account that the compulsory Japanese educational system doesn’t teach whole novels, only a couple of chapters here or there.

Victor’s eyes are huge and Yuuri openly winces. “I am…bad at this game,” he finally concedes.

Victor gestures for him to come close, and Yuuri piles on top of him like a sad sack of potatoes. “You are horrible at this,” Victor supplies. “But it’s okay. I appreciate the effort, _lapochka_. It’s quite sweet.”

Yuuri sighs into his cashmere pullover and holds him tight. 

“How about I give you a couple books to sample?” Victor says. “They’re meant to be erotic, so roleplaying scenes won’t be quite so jarring.”

“I’m all yours,” Yuuri says without hesitation.

Clearing his throat, Victor says, “Of course.”

They fool around anyways because why not, but afterwards when Victor grabs some salmon paste and crackers to much in bed, he gifts Yuuri a couple selections from his library. 

Yuuri puts his spare glasses on and reads the titles. _The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Tropic of Cancer. Dangerous Liaisons. Delta of Venus. Women in Love. The Storm._

Mm, he thinks as Victor feeds him salmon paste very sloppily, then kisses off the mess around his lips. It’s been over a year since he’s had actual homework, but one shouldn’t stop learning until they die, Yuuri figures.

May as well dive in tomorrow.

_——_

Yuuri sits in the bath reading on his phone. There is a sheet mask on his face, he has his hair swept back by sparkly yellow pins into a messy bun on his crown, and he tries in vain not to openly weep lest the hydrating rose paper concoction fails to do its job. The water smells like cognac and fresh lime because Victor went a little nuts during the last BOGO sale on the Lush website. He picked only bath bombs involving gold, stars, or gold stars, and Yuuri is forced to admit Golden Wonder is a fave even if it does turn the porcelain a shimmery turquoise after.

_She had an overwhelming desire to tell him, like the most banal of women. Don't let me go, hold me tight, make me your plaything, your slave, be strong! But they were words she could not say._

_The only thing she said when he released her from his embrace was, "You don't know how happy I am to be with you." That was the most her reserved nature allowed her to express._

“Someone’s sleeping on the couch for a while,” he grumbles as he turns the page. He signed on for smut, not _feelings_ , and he’s fairly confident Victor knew he’d feel dragged by this monologue. He should buy a physical copy and burn it in their gas fireplace while giving Victor an uncomfortable, too-long stare. 

Yuuri moves to _Tropic of Cancer._

The enormous amount of misogyny almost makes Yuuri rage quit the second novel but then he skips ahead to a part highlighted as a popular bookmark and…well, Henry Miller now has his full attention.

_All the men she's been with and now you, just you, and the barges going by, masts and hulls, the whole damned current of life flowing through you, through her, through all the guys behind you and after you, the flowers and the birds and the sun streaming in and the fragrance of it choking you, annihilating you._

Someone said something once that Yuuri kind of had to nod politely at due to his lack of experience, but after Victor he thinks he can make sense of it: for some people having sex is the most alive they feel, but it’s also the closest they come to death without actually dying.

He flips to a different book, another popular bookmark with a hyperlink and…it’s…women engaging in a threesome. It’s…surprisingly stirring, he notes. He swaps to another book, and it’s some wealthy title-holder discussing his urge to manipulate a woman into giving him her virtue. 

_I shall possess this woman; I shall steal her from the husband who profanes her: I will even dare ravish her from the God whom she adores. What delight, to be in turns the object and the victor of her remorse! Far be it from me to destroy the prejudices which sway her mind! They will add to my happiness and my triumph. Let her believe in virtue, and sacrifice it to me; let the idea of falling terrify her, without preventing her fall; and may she, shaken by a thousand terrors, forget them, vanquish them only in my arms._

It’s unhealthy and scary (he’s acutely aware of this) but Yuuri can’t deny it’s also extremely hot. He wonders—minus the whole God thing—if Victor holds or did hold any such thoughts about their first night. He knows how he got after he did well with “Eros,” but…he’s never really asked about their first time from his perspective. 

It’s past time he did.

Actually…this is probably the idea he likes best. Pretending he’s some wilting flower, naive and inexperienced, while Victor cajoles him into being ravished. It’s distasteful in real life, Yuuri thinking of the jerk bags in Detroit, but in a fantasy acted out by consenting adults…it’s hot.

He can still use what he ordered—though they're not quite period appropriate, the details are a bit closer to the aesthetic than his other possibilities, and he thinks there’s a film of this book that has well done costuming. He switches to the Google app and looks into it; the whole thing’s online for free. He streams a little, careful not to drop his phone in the water, and…yeah. This is what he wants, he decides. 

Sure it’s another one of those _no one gets a happy ending_ books, but…to be honest, the dude Victor will play in this scenario ends up becoming not bad, and he genuinely loves Michelle Pfeiffer. Yeah he dies in a duel or whatever, but it’s French Literature. Yuuri is under the impression that it’s not known for happy-go-lucky fun endings. 

The real villain was the lead from _Damages_ and frankly, she gets hers so Yuuri chalks it up as a win anyhow.

Yuuri puts his phone on the dark teak table next to the tub and sinks down a bit in the glittering azure water. Their bathroom has a separate shower and a fancy clawfoot antiquity, which is excellent for Yuuri’s sensibilities from his onsen upbringing. There’s a glass next to his phone of once-Victor's-now-their favorite off-brut champagne, and he pauses to remove the mask before he takes a drink.

This is his time every week per his and Victor’s careful negotiations with Phichit and Chris as mediators. Phichit definitely called them weirdoes in Thai, but that’s neither here nor there. Chris had a good hearty laugh and said something about Yuuri assimilating faster than he anticipated. Victor shrugged with a self-effacing smile as he made everyone _chirashizushi_ as they finally found a nearby fishmonger with sashimi-grade offerings.

Victor’s designated three hours with no interruptions in the bath is alloted for Wednesdays. He gets feisty without proper alone time by the middle of the week, and so Yuuri gives him Wednesdays and Victor returns the favor with Sundays. Yuuri’s ballet sessions with Madam…Lilia, rather and Victor’s one-on-one rink time with Yakov provide other reprieves during the season, but as it’s June 19th that’s not terribly helpful. 

Yuuri sits with his eyes wide. Tomorrow is the 20th of June. He completely forgot. As he’s about to start the rapid descent into madness, he hears a chime on his phone. 

It’s a text from Victor—which is their only permitted means of talking during their alone time.

_Two boxes with your name on the label were at the concierge. Should I open them?_

Well now…there’s no need to panic, Yuuri decides. The Russian postal system bailed him out. 

_No I’ll do it later. Thank you though!_ with a blue heart.

 _Of course!_ followed by five blue hearts.

It’s the off season, so aside from a long run in the morning, he and Victor will be at loose ends tomorrow. Which means if he can manage it, he can pull it off. He grabs his phone and dials the person who became number six in his contacts within a couple of weeks of his move due to the regular coordination of their Overwatch nights.

Yuri picks up on the third ring. _Ugh, what Katsudon?_ he says, the mild cheer in his tone undermining the rude greeting.

“Hi Yurio, can you do me a favor if you’re able?” Yuuri says as he puts the phone on speaker so he doesn’t risk dropping it in the water. “Can you get Vitya out of the house for…two hours or so tomorrow?”

There’s a long pause.

A very long pause.

Yuuri finally sighs. “Okay. Fine. Name your price.”

 _Good, I’m glad you’re smart enough to know there is one,_ Yuri says. _Next four times we play Overwatch, you let **me** be Widow. You have to be Mercy._

Yuuri hears the sirens from that movie about the blonde woman in yellow on a brutal revenge rampage. “Yurio. Think about what you’re asking. Think about…that one time.”

That one time Yuuri let their entire party die out of spite because they forced him to play Support. An event which repeated until finally Yurio relented and let him have his precious spidery sniper again. Poor unfortunate child, he knew not what he did.

 _Don’t care, because in retrospect it was really funny_ , Yuri says. _I didn’t know Nekola could get mad at all, let alone to that level of pure rage. I need it to happen again so I can make it into a post for my Instastory._

Yuuri sighs, thinking about the next night. Well…it’ll be worth it. “Fine. You have a deal.”

 _Cool,_ Yuri answers. Potya expresses her approval with a loud yodel in the background. _What time? I’ll tell him I want opinions on my theme or some crap while taking him for coffee._

“Four should be fine,” Yuuri says. 

_Okay four it is. I’ll send the false pretense text in a sec._ Yuri pauses. _This isn’t for something gross is it?_ Yuuri opens his mouth to answer. Before he can, he’s cut off. _Nope, don’t wanna hear if it is. Bye Katsudon._

Yuuri snorts and then slides down to submerge his shoulders. If he pleads doing an errand on his own before Victor leaves, he can get a couple things handled before Victor heads out with Yuri. That’ll give him enough time to set up.

He smiles and checks his fingers to see if they’re prunes. Just a little, he has some more time.

Sweet.

_——_

The plan has been executed with almost surgical precision, Yuuri thinks, which of course makes him immediately wonder what’s going to fall apart. 

Yuuri sets up the extras he bought for the ambience, feeds Makkachin early, walks him too, and then he opens his packages: one from La Perla, one from Christian Louboutin. While mostly still leaning towards frugality, Victor has managed to seep into his habits when it comes to special occasions. 

This is very, very special.

The curtains are drawn, the candles are lit to perfume the air with black dahlia and lily of the valley, and Yuuri face times Phichit in desperation the second time his wings don’t match. “Why am I like this,” he says, not asking.

Phichit sighs. “Just remember: make up is for Yuuris who want husbands. Contouring is for Yuuris who want to leech the souls of their dead lovers and collect the inheritance of their ex-boyfriends who disappeared under mysterious circumstances.”

“I have no ex-boyfriends, and I’m not sure souls are real,” Yuuri dryly remarks as he wipes the liner off and tries again. 

“Use a spoon, you amateur,” Phichit comments. “Follow the curve of the spoon, it’ll solve this mess you’re in.”

Yuuri raises one perfectly-filled in eyebrow because he at least can handle that much thanks to skating. “Look.”

“You’re a figure skater and a danseur, and the only make up you can do is a basic face,” Phichit tuts as holds a spoon to his eye and shows Yuuri how to position it. “Now. Again.”

Yuuri does it and it works this time. Phichit suggests lining over his lip line to make them look fuller, and it does. He looks pretty, soft, and doe-eyed. It’s exactly what he needs. “Thanks, Phichit.”

“You’re welcome,” Phichit says as he files his nails. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“None of your business, good night,” Yuuri finishes as he hangs up while Phichit protests. He then carefully covers himself in his costume for the night, aqua silk and stretch satin with hand-sewn lace and matching white satin shoes with ribbons that tie around his ankles. 

Just in time as he hears the front door unlock, Victor greeting a happy Makkachin in their native tongue before calling his name. 

Yuuri doesn’t answer. It’s part of the role.

He left the bedroom door ajar and the lights dimmed, so he hears Victor push it open against the thick carpet. “Yuuri I—“ he chokes off.

Yuuri feigns shock as he turns in his robe, bodysuit, and heels. “Why sir—“ he begins. “You should knock. I’m indecent. Surely this will cause a scandal!”

Victor’s eyes are not on his face, but Yuuri can see the moment where he puts everything together. “I’m quite sorry,” he says with the tone in his voice that tells Yuuri he’s been caught in his tender trap. “I suppose I should avert my gaze and leave you be.”

Yuuri turns, back to Victor, and makes a show of twisting his hair into a messy knot on the back of his head. His neck is exposed, and he lets the robe slip off his left shoulder. Before he can make any pretense, he feels Victor’s hand slide across his skin, igniting every nerve ending. 

Yuuri smiles.

“I must confess, though,” Victor continues. “I find it impossible to pull away.”

The first touch of his lips against Yuuri’s exposed nape causes him to shiver. It’s more difficult than he thought to play a coy, blushing maiden. He wants to shove him onto the bed and have his way until they’re a debauched, destroyed mess tangled in each other’s bodies like their hearts have been forever.

“Sir—“ Yuuri begins.

“If I keep it secret,” Victor says. “If we tell no one…everything I do will be of great use to you on your wedding night. I can preserve your reputation and grant you satisfaction in one, darling, if you’ll permit me.”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri demurs, but Victor’s lips burn during their ascension to his earlobe, and he’s done in. He doesn’t have to say it, though—Victor can tell from the sound, however small, that escapes his lips. 

“Sh,” Victor admonishes. He draws Yuuri to the bed, arranging Yuuri on his lap as he lovingly brushes some stray hair off his face. He undoes the robe with his other hand before stroking the bare skin of Yuuri’s thigh. Yuuri whines, and Victor shushes him again. “Proper ladies don’t give away their enjoyment.”

Yuuri nods with a crimson stain on his cheeks and braces his posture by gripping Victor’s shoulders. Victor’s hand caresses his thigh, higher and higher until he’s at the edge of the matching bodysuit. There are snaps in the crotch, which Yuuri’s erection strains while Victor continues to tease. Yuuri tries and fails to control his breathing. 

The pads of Victor’s fingers move from skin to stretch satin as they trace the curve of Yuuri’s ass. It’s not really where he wants Victor to touch, but it’ll do. Yuuri arches his back just a little and bares his throat in appreciation. His other hand moves to Yuuri’s hard sex, just lightly cupping it through the damp fabric, and Yuuri bucks, betraying his growing desperation. 

“Proper ladies,” Victor reminds as he undoes the snaps in the crotch. 

Yuuri closes his eyes, biting the lipstick off his bottom lip. 

Victor doesn’t touch his cock, because apparently Yuuri is in love with Satan. No, instead Victor slowly rubs that patch of skin behind his balls but in front of his hole. Yuuri swallows a loud cry as Victor strokes it a few times far too slowly. Yuuri keeps his eyes closed and his mind centered as much as he can manage. It’s…rough, to say the least.

Yuuri had the presence of mind to have lube available in a few places around the room as he didn’t know where they would end up, including a bottle about six inches from Victor’s thigh. Victor notices it, careful as he opens it to not spill on their sheets. He lets it warm on his right hand and then slips his fingers to Yuuri’s ass, massaging the ring of muscle. 

“Darling, I want you to look at me,” Victor instructs. As Yuuri does, his finger slips inside. Yuuri keeps their eyes locked as Victor presses towards his goal, that spot that he can probably find in his sleep by now, and upon his success, Yuuri struggles harder to stay silent. 

Victor works him slow, after too long adding a second digit. He repeats this, Yuuri not breaking eye contact or making sounds even when he presses in with a third. His cock aches and drips against the lingerie, and Victor fingers him, increasing his speed and intensity until Yuuri is barely safe from the precipice of his ecstasy.

They both know he can come from this and nothing else, it’s happened a few times before, and Yuuri hopes that’s Victor’s goal here. He’s struggling for air, the noises he longs to set free trapped in his throat like he wears a gag.

Victor’s eyes drop to Yuuri's lips and the bob of his Adam’s Apple, but Yuuri doesn’t break the rule that’s been set except when he comes, he closes them. His whole body shudders, the bodysuit growing sticky as he spills on its lining, and he forgets to stay silent as he cries out without words.

Victor’s face is visibly flushed when Yuuri can look at him again, his eyes glassy and dark. “What did I say? Proper ladies pretend this is an obligation. They do not display such wantonness.”

Yuuri takes a big gamble, larger than he’s had to since Barcelona. “Then perhaps I’m not a proper lady. Perhaps you should treat me like a proper _whore_.”

Victor’s eyebrow climbs high on his forehead as he gives Yuuri a long assessment. It lasts long enough Yuuri begins to think the game has gone too far, but then Victor swallows and replies with, “As you wish.”

The gentleness ends, which Yuuri silently expresses relief over as Victor tosses him bodily onto the bed arranged on his hands and knees. The loose knot of Yuuri’s hair comes undone as it spills across his neck and upper shoulders. The back of the bodysuit is a transparent nude mesh like the panels on his _Yuri On Ice_ jacket, and Victor possessively runs a hand up the fabric to grip in his hair. 

He hears the lube open and Victor undo his fly before the slick sounds of his hand on his cock fill the room. “You’re my _whore_ tonight, then?” Victor asks.

Yuuri can’t nod like this, as Victor’s grip is like a vice. His scalp hurts, he’s still hard, and he’s about to die if Victor doesn’t fuck him. “I’ll be your whore every night as long as you wish.”

Victor’s cock rubs against his ass, and Yuuri’s unable to resist making a low, needy sound in his throat. The teasing continues for far, _far_ too long, Yuuri arching his spine and yowling like a cat in heat, begging for it.

Victor doesn’t give in, and Yuuri sobs as he buries his face into the bed while he white-knuckles his grip in the Egyptian cotton. He’s too far gone, five full fathoms deep, and he can’t form the words, he can hardly think of anything except that completion he may die without. He drips a second time, smearing against the sheets they’ll surely have to change before sleeping, and he moans, cries, and stutters out “ _Please_.” 

It’s like a mantra, like a ritualistic chant to invoke an ancient magic, and Victor is a merciless god heeding this prayer. “Do you really want it?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says. His eyes sting, and he’s shaking. He may come the second Victor fills him, and then probably again before Victor finishes. 

A slap stings his ass cheek, and Yuuri howls like a mating animal for the second time. “Say it.”

“Take me,” Yuuri begs. “Take my body like the whore I am. Use me as you wish and toss me out after.”

He hears Victor inhale like a whip crack and then _thank God_ , he breeches him, pushing in too slow but just rough enough that Yuuri’s noises are now relieved. He somehow hasn’t touched himself during this, belatedly realizing he’s rocking his hips into the sheets for the friction against his aching sex. 

Victor yanks his hair back for leverage and fucks into him too shallowly, too slowly, and Yuuri groans as his position’s altered by force. Victor’s kneeling and Yuuri’s drawn down into sitting on his lap as he thrusts upwards into him over and over, his eyes aimed at the ceiling with nothing else to look at. Yuuri dimly notices for the first time textured white paint has been made into a starburst above their bed with little flecks of something shimmery. 

Victor fucks him so hard he bounces, not really saying anything beyond gibberish or maybe some dirty talk in Japanese, who even can tell anymore, but he’s close, he’s close, he’s _so close_ because of the angle and the pressure and the relentlessness—-

Neiher of them have laid a proper grip on Yuuri's cock all night, and he comes for the second time with a scream. He sags on Victor’s lap, his breaths shallow and heaving, and Victor bites into his shoulder before releasing his hair, sliding his cock out, and pushing Yuuri onto the bed in a heap. 

Victor rearranges himself so he’s kneeling in front of Yuuri with his cock close to his face, and he jacks himself furiously. Yuuri almost doesn’t get it until he comes in pearly stripes on his cheek and lips, dripping down onto the bust line of the bodysuit. Yuuri is spattered and feels wrecked, the loose front pieces of his hair dragging into the come and sticking to his mouth. 

Victor tries to regain his composure, having not removed a single stitch of his clothing. He looks ridiculous now—his face is stained like beetroot, his bangs are plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his softening cock is hanging out of his pants, but Yuuri’s never loved anything in the world with a greater force.

“You chose a color I wouldn’t expect,” Victor begins when he can speak.

Yuuri shrugs one shoulder and smiles. “It’s the same shade as your eyes.”

Even after everything, the fact that Victor can be rendered flustered and quietly emotional from his gestures and words is so wonderful and humbling. He hopes it never stops. Victor smiles before growing serious, the set of his lip in between his teeth giving away a bit of nerves. “That’s what you wanted, right?” he asks, the light in his eyes dimming with uncertainty.

Yuuri stretches his arms above his head. He never took the shoes off, he notes. Ah well, it doesn’t matter. They make his legs look powerful and sexy. Victor won’t complain since they’re brand new. “Sure, but it wasn’t for me. It was a gift. For you.”

Victor’s eyebrows knit together.

Yuuri grins. “Happy Anniversary,” he coos.

Victor sighs and rolls his eyes. “August 7th.”

“June 20th,” Yuuri counters. 

“August 7th for our committing to one another, April 22nd for the wedding anniversary.”

“June 20th for when it started.” Yuuri will not back down.

After shaking his head, Victor sighs a second time. “It’s not an anniversary.”

“Fine. Happy Sexaversary. See if I ever do this again,” Yuuri grumbles. “You try to do something sweet, and this is the thanks you get.”

Victor softens and takes Yuuri’s right hand, stroking the finger that wears two stacking bands: one in yellow gold, one filled with rose and white gold threads like the rings of an acient tree. “Are you sure this was good? I worried when—“

“Did I use the word?” Yuuri says, sweet and reassuring.

“Well no, but—“ Yuuri strokes his face, causing Victor to go silent.

“It’s nothing we haven’t done much of before,” Yuuri says. “I’d have stopped you. You know I’d have stopped you. Please don’t think it wasn’t okay…I loved it. Every second.”

There’s his happy boy with his eyes shining like diamonds. Victor kisses just above Yuuri's rings. Then he takes in the sight of Yuuri’s incredible mess: Victor’s come all over his face and chest, as well as his own dripping off the crotch of the lingerie, smearing across his thighs. “You need to clean up.”

“I can tell without a mirror, yeah,” Yuuri admits with a crooked smile. “I guess it’s bad enough for a shower.”

Victor holds his finger to his lips. “Hm. No.”

“No? Vitya, I can’t sleep like this—“ Yuuri protests but he quits when Victor rolls him onto his back and spreads his legs. 

“Not a shower, not today,” Victor says as he slides down and bends, lifting Yuuri’s leg by the knee and slowly licking a hot stripe from the joint further north to the white fluid on his inner thigh.

Yuuri digs the white satin stiletto into Victor’s back and sighs, his hands gripping his hair to give him wordless instructions for the proper completion of his task. _Worth it,_ he manages to think before Victor’s mouth kills all of his concentration on anything except the wet, hot pressure engulfing him. 

They’re late to Yubileyny the next morning, and as their faces are nothing more than deeply satisfied smiles, Yuri’s open look of annoyance is (just this once) justifiable.

**Author's Note:**

> THE BOOKS!
> 
> Anna Karenina is first, with Vrosnky et al.  
> Rochester is from Jane Eyre, though I'd say given what Victor says his thoughts went to Wide Sargasso Sea more likely.  
> Daisy is from Gatsby hence "no one will get shot in a pool." Ain't no party like a Gatsby part until there's at least two dead bodies and we're all disillusioned with the Jazz Age.  
> Hester Prynne is the Scarlet Letter, and Yuuri's taste is awful, isn't it?  
> The first excerpt that makes Yuuri feel dragged is from The Unbearable Lightness of Being.  
> The second excerpt is from Tropic of Cancer like stated and yeah that book is sexist as hell. Sorry Yuuri.  
> The lesbian threesome is from Delta of Venus.  
> Of course, the book with the posessing of the woman's virtue and the movie with "the lead from Damages" is Les Liaisons Dangereuses/Dangerous Liaisons. No one dies of sadness in a convent or in a duel this time.


End file.
